


She Fairly Gleamed

by Alahra



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Amaurot (Final Fantasy XIV), F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Post-Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:15:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25956604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alahra/pseuds/Alahra
Summary: Though her friends have been safely returned home to the Source, the Warrior of Light cannot help but linger in her oldest home. On this return, she uncovers some of her soul's memories for the first time.
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 3
Kudos: 36





	1. First Remembrances

**Author's Note:**

> Major spoilers for patch 5.3 of Shadowbringers. Warrior of Light remains unnamed, but I'm using some details (and a name) for the 14th according to my own sense of the character. Title is from Emet-Selch's description of Amaurot in Kholusia.

Beneath a sunless sky, the Warrior of Light brought her chocobo down to a high, familiar perch of ancient stone. Once the bird’s feet were stable, she carefully slipped from her saddle so that she could find sure footing of her own, then brought a gloved hand up to brush the friendly creature’s beak. She lingered thusly but for a moment before giving the bird a gentle smile.

“Go on, then. I will call for you when I am ready.”

The bird’s eyes met hers for a moment, belying an understanding beyond a chocobo’s normal ken, and let out a soft whine of disagreement. The hero shook her head. “There is no need for both of us to brood, my friend. I will be fine.” Her continued smile finally seemed to win her companion over, and with a _kweh_ of acknowledgement, he lifted off, letting strong wings carry him into the distance.

The Warrior of Light’s eyes followed the chocobo, naturally being drawn to the skyline of recreated Amaurot as the bird’s form faded from view. With a heavy sigh, she moved to sit down on the cold stone, only to have something tumble from her belt pouch, clinking against the stone behind her. Frowning, she turned and bent down to grab it, her hand clasping over the small, gleaming stone.

“I need to better secure this. That’s twice now...” Lifting it up, she gazed down at the golden stone pensively, contemplating its nature and how little she knew of Azem, the Ancient whose memories it held—memories that were supposedly hers, as well. Though she had regarded it in such a manner countless times, the sight of it this time filled her with a familiar dizziness, leaving her vision blurred and indistinct as the Echo took the reins of her senses.

**************

With the sun beginning to rise over the skyline of home, the Shepherd Azem brought her great bird—a magnificent creature of her own making—down to a high, familiar perch of ancient stone. From her saddle, she paused to watch the sun lift from behind the towering spires of Amaurot until an excited caw from below disrupted her gaze. Suddenly, the bird began to change beneath her very seat, and soon it was a bird no more but a gwiber—still just as impressive.

Trying to hide her smile at the change’s portent, she slipped down from her saddle, lifting a gentle hand to the side of the gwiber’s face. “Do not pretend you have missed...home more than me.” Her smile became more difficult to mask with every passing moment. After after a final caress, the Shepherd turned toward the roof of the Capitol building to see her approaching visitor.

“Most honorable Emet-Selch,” she beamed, grey eyes dancing behind the black mask that obscured half her countenance, “to what do I owe such a personal welcome?”

Stretching his arms overhead and yawning like a man rudely awoken, Emet-Selch regarded her a way that suggested he was trying not to smile. “Someone must berate you for that light of yours which could wake all creation, esteemed Azem...”

“There are two people in all of Amaurot who see me thusly, and only one of you pretends to complain about it.” Her smile, in contrast, was plain and vibrant.

Emet-Selch crossed his arms with a huff, turning his gaze to the gwiber behind her. The creature shifted in excitement, but well-trained to abide his mistress, stayed put. “You ought to have given the creature a singular form, you know...”

A moment later, she was close. Her form, clad in black leathers fit for long journeys away from Amaurot, pressed in with familiarity against the warmth of his traditional black robes. “And wise it would have been for me to heed the counsel of the great Emet-Selch,” she teased. “But I like that he is free to choose. That he prefers a gwiber’s form in your presence is also so very helpful for when you try to surprise me.”

“Have I not asked you to use my true name when we are alone, Athena?” Despite his sigh, his arms slipped around her with familiarity of his own. Then he turned his head to look down at her mischievous grin, which reminded him far too much of a certain chief architect.

“Of course you have, Hades...” With hands resting on his shoulders, she rose onto her toes to leave a single kiss on the side of his neck. “But Hythlodaeus would be so disappointed in me if I did not afford you the proper respect.”

The Shepherd, who knew him so well, could all but see the roll of his eyes behind the crimson mask he wore. “I further regret introducing you to him with every turn of the Star.” With one side of his mouth lifting in a smirk, he brought his hands up to her mask, pulling it gently from her face.

Platinum locks fell to frame her countenance, and her grey eyes sparkled up at him. She brought her hands to his mask in turn, thumbs tracing its outline affectionately. “You are a terrible liar, as befitting our Angel of Truth—and far too clever not to have known he would tell me of your heart’s desire at the first opportunity.” His mask fell easily into her hands, and her gleaming greys properly met his goldens—now catching the glint of the sunrise—for the first time in too many cycles of the moon.

Nearby, her gwiber made a sound that seemed almost like laughter, having settled down along the perch’s edge. “Tsk, no one asked for the creature’s opinion. Should I cast the blame for that on Hythlodaeus, too?” Her mask resting in one hand, he let the other rest gently against the side of her face, betraying the lie of his sardonic tone.

Azem simply smiled, rising once again to this time pull his mouth down to meet hers with an intensity normally fit only for the private debate rooms at the Hall of Rhetoric. Her fingers tangled through his white hair, clutching tightly until the lock between their lips broke. Then, she spun away, grinning at the knowledge that behind her, the great Emet-Selch’s face would be as red as a sunset. “You should say ‘hello.’ He misses you almost as much as I do, you know.”

With another sigh, Emet-Selch followed the Shepherd to her trusty steed. Kneeling beside it while she began to ruffle through her saddlebags, he placed a friendly hand on the gwiber’s head. With a soft and contented rumble, the mount pressed up into his touch, demanding more attention, which Hades gave with feigned reluctance while his paramour gathered her things.

Once Azem had finished, she put her hand over his to subtly redirect his attention—which she knew would be far more focused on her steed than he would ever care to admit. “Shall we, then, Hades?” As ever, her smile was at its brightest for him.

His eyes nearly lingered but ultimately flickered away from her smile to the bundle of black cloth in the crook of her arm, and his amber orbs widened in realization. “You will need this...for tonight’s banquet.” Slipping one hand into the wide recess of his other sleeve, Emet-Selch produced a black mask far more ornate than the one he had taken so tenderly from her face before.

Her expression quizzical, Azem exchanged his mask for the dark pair on offer, setting the plain one in her lap to better appreciate the new. The mask’s owl-like features were more pronounced, and its edges were lined with sculpted feathers, each one tipped with a shimmer of gold, like a hint of sunlight from behind a cloud. “Hades,” she began, her curious gaze lifting to search his now averted face, “surely you remember that I already possess the mask belonging to my Seat.”

Before answering, Hades made a point of replacing his own mask, obscuring at least some of his features from the Shepherd once more. “But it is to be a night of celebration, is it not?” He gestured wide in demonstration. “You ought to wear a symbol befitting the Convocation’s commemoration of another year guiding the Star along its proper course. Don’t you agree, Athena?”

While he spoke in answer, her hands traced the shape of the mask carefully. The mark of his aether upon it was unmistakable, and she could clearly see the characteristic snap of his fingers that brought it into being in her mind’s eye. “Spoken just like the Angel of Truth,” she mused, carefully slipping the mask into a pouch at her side, so that she could don her more casual one. “I will wear it this evening, as you suggest, dearest Hades.”

“Do not mistake my intentions, Athena,” he insisted, rising to his feet and offering her his hand, which she took gladly, leaning just slightly—if unnecessarily—on his support to stand. “But I am sure you have much to attend to before the night’s festivities. I should not keep you.”

“Rest assured, I do not mistake them in the least.” Azem flashed him another of her vibrant smiles. “You are right, though. There is much to be done, and I must humbly request the assistance of the honorable Emet-Selch in my preparations,” she continued, keeping a firm hold on his hand, as if to drag him along with her.

“What? I see no need—” But the traveler had already begun to move, pulling him close behind and derailing his opposition.

“Among other things,” she began, opening a window into places _between_ ahead of them, so that they might quickly adjourn to her quarters, “I cannot possibly hope to manage all of these leathers alone after such a tiring journey...”

Any resistance Emet-Selch might have offered vanished, and her will became his. “Ever my weary wanderer...” With an affectionate half-smile reserved only for her gleaming eyes, the Lord of the Underworld trailed after the Shepherd to the Stars.

**************

High above Emet-Selch’s memory of Amaurot, the Echo gradually released the Warrior of Light from the reverie provoked by the constellation stone of Azem. When her vision had cleared, a single image remained in her mind’s eye: that same, somber smile on the face of Emet-Selch, high above the true ruins of Amaurot. She blinked, hastily shaking her aching head to banish the thought from her mind.

But as she clutched the stone in her hand, a lump rose in her throat, and tears began to well under her eyes, anyway. A profound sorrow welled in her breast, deepened by the phantom city all around her—a reminder of monumental scale.

Before the tears overwhelmed her, all she could manage was a single, whispered question to no one:

“Why did he never tell me?”


	2. Brooding Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seeking further answers, the Warrior of Light returns to Amaurot's Capitol building, where she is best by another ancient memory and discovered by an old friend.

Sometime later and with eyes finally dried, the Warrior of Light came to the entrance of Amaurot’s Capitol building—the Convocation’s seat of power, where she had once been made to prove herself to both Emet-Selch and Elidibus on separate occasions. From below, the towering structure seemed like it might have touched the heavens in the time-lost world her soul once called home. The sight was at once overwhelming but also intimately familiar—as Azem and Athena both, she must have come this way more times than she could ever know.

Once inside, the great golden hall somehow made her feel smaller, with the metaphorical weight of Emet-Selch’s conjured simulacrum bearing down on her from every direction. On this visit, the grand chamber was empty, save for her. There was no Emet-Selch, his grief turned so sharply to anger, no Elidibus, so dutybound as to have lost his sense of self to the eons. So far as she knew, the remaining sundered of the Convocation had been scattered to the winds, and the legacy of Amaurot had become a burden she alone could truly bear.

Her gaze traveled around the gargantuan chamber, lingering on each of the massive doors leading away from the central hall. Could she even be sure that they led to places beyond, or would they be naught but smoke and mirrors? Almost without thinking, she reached into her coat’s inside breast pocket, retrieving the stone of Azem from its new, more secure place of storage.

It felt warm even through her glove, reminding her of the gentle heat of a calm summer day. Her fingers closed around it, as if to draw strength from reserves she felt sure it possessed, and she took a deep breath before striding to the first of the many doors around her. Before it, her feelings of insignificance seemed magnified, but still she lifted her free hand, setting it against the ancient artifice. After another deep breath, she pushed, but the towering portal did not bend to her will, as though it were part of the wall itself.

She gave the door another frustrated, fruitless shove. “What happened to getting carried away, Emet?” she wondered aloud, and then she moved on to the next door. When that one refused to budge as well, it was on to the next, but for each door she approached, the result was the same.

“Illusions all, then?” Her head turned toward the final door, through which Emet-Selch had once beckoned her to witness Amaurot’s final days. “But then again...you did have a penchant for the dramatic...”

With renewed conviction, the Warrior of Light strode across the hall toward the great double doors. Her certainty grew with every step, just as her grip on the stone of Azem tightened. When the way came within reach, she lifted her other hand, calmly placing her fingertips against the door. The conjured metal and wood felt somehow warm, like the gentle heat of a calm summer day, and the stone seemed almost to tremble in her other hand.

The great doors swung open effortlessly at her touch, revealing a plain corridor in the Amaurotine style and none of the illusory flames that had once raged within as part of Emet-Selch’s penultimate trial. The hallway beckoned her inward, and—with heart racing—the Warrior of Light felt compelled to oblige.

And yet, as the doors closed gently behind her, she felt that familiar pull once more. Her ears rang, her vision blurred, and her balanced faltered. Slumping down against the nearest wall, she clung tightly to the stone of Azem—its heat now radiating like the sun at its zenith—as the Echo overtook her once more.

**************

Within a bedecked conference hall nestled in the upper reaches of Amaurot’s Capitol building, the Convocation of Fourteen had gathered to commemorate another successful turn of the star. While most of them intermingled, Azem, the Shepherd, had escaped to a secluded window, her grey eyes fixed on what she could see of the horizon beyond the city’s towering skyline.

Throughout the room, she could hear her colleagues engaged in conversations, debates, and demonstrations, and Emissary Elidibus’s fingers dancing on the chamber’s grand piano, filling the air with personal renditions of recently popular compositions. But as the Shepherd, she was both Convocation member and outcast, never quite as at home as her comrades in these formal gatherings.

Thus, it was often her way to slip away once she had delivered her reports on the wider world to the rest of the Convocation, to reflect on her travels—the places seen, the people met, and threats encountered—often to the detriment of her senses. Such reverie left her unaware of Emet-Selch’s presence until his arms had already wrapped around her from behind. Knowing his touch instinctively, however, she leaned back against him with a sigh.

“Must you always retreat for this brooding silence, my dear?” He gazed down at her head against his chest with a private, affectionate smile. “I much prefer your brilliance from the morn...”

“Hades...” The name was whispered, such an address inappropriate in the company of the esteemed Convocation. “Do you wish to make for them a spectacle?” Behind the ornate mask he had gifted her upon her return, Azem’s eyes gleamed.

Emet-Selch grinned uncharacteristically—but only for a moment. “No more than Igeyorhm and Lahabrea already do, not to mention Loghrif and Mitron—but you would not have seen _their_ displays of affection, with your steely gaze so fixed on the horizon. What troubles my wanderer so?”

Sinking further into his embrace, Azem leaned against her companion, taking comfort in his strength as her own seemed to falter. “It was...different this time. Out there. Something feels _wrong_ , Hades. Beasts the likes of which I’ve never seen. A whole settlement reduced to nothing but ruin. I wasn’t able to save them all...but it’s what I’m _here_ for...”

“A grave and serious matter, one that you were right to bring to our attention as soon as you did. But you may rest assured, my dear, that the souls of those lost will return to the star in due time, after the requisite sojourn in the Underworld.” For a moment, he rested his lips against the top of her cowl. “In the meantime, the rest of the Convocation will work tirelessly in search of a solution—aided, as ever, by your efforts abroad.”

His touch did far more to soothe the turmoil in her spirit than his words ever could, but she took them to heart nonetheless. After a few more moments’ silence, Azem twisted around in Emet-Selch’s arms, then cast a quick glance out into the hall. Satisfied that all other attention was elsewhere, she quickly rose to press her mouth against his, just firmly enough to vaguely fluster.

Emet-Selch’s hold on the Shepherd tightened but for a moment—he knew she would be off and moving in her typical manner, whether he wanted to keep her or not. “What was it you had to say about spectacle again?” he wondered dryly, stepping aside to clear her way into the rest of the great hall.

“I was _discreet_ ,” came her soft protest, making to slip past him and play her own part in mingling. “Emet-Selch,” she continued, her voice rising to a more audible pitch, “your counsel was invaluable as ever. You have my gratitude.”

Turning his back to Azem, he waved her on in his usual dismissive manner, content to let her wander the gathering as she was meant to. His eyes, out of habit, began to follow the passage of souls outside the window—a welcome distraction while he sought to regain his composure from her attempt to throw him off balance.

Throughout the chamber, the rest of the Convocation made ready to receive the Shepherd in turn, not a one of them unaware of her stolen kiss.

**************

The Warrior of Light came back to her senses slowly, finding her back still pressed against the cold stone of the Amaurotine corridor. After a few shakes of her head in an attempt to more quickly clear her vision, she lifted her gaze for a momentary shock: knelt before her was the still towering form of one of Emet-Selch’s many citizen shades. Well-accustomed to their kindness, however, her shock faded quickly.

In a soothing and familiar voice, the shade mused, “Memories of the stars, I presume?”

“Hythlodaeus? How long have you been here? How did you find me?” Her eyes fell on the stone of Azem once more, still cradled tightly in hand after her Echo-driven reverie.

“Not long, old friend. It is a simple thing to pick out the only soul who wanders these halls, most especially a soul such as yours.” Hythlodaeus extended a large hand that she might make use of it to stand.

The Warrior of Light carefully stowed the stone inside her coat once more and pulled herself up with his aid. “Right...memories, though, yes. The stone...it seems to trigger them, but so far, only when it wants to.”

Hythlodaeus lifted a hand to his face thoughtfully. “Ah... The sundered members of the Convocation would have had the guidance of the unsundered in assuming their mantles. Emet-Selch must have hoped to do the same for you—shepherding the Shepherd.” The thought turned his thoughtful expression toward gentle laughter.

“But he is here no longer,” she sighed, gazing further down the corridor. “In my vision, there was...a room for meetings, bedecked as if for a celebration. An annual one...Emet-Selch and I...that is, Azem—”

“Met there often, in our time. And upon rooftops, in gardens, in chambers for debate, and—on occasion—beyond the walls of Amaurot.” Rising to his feet, Hythlodaeus beckoned toward the door. “But you need not find the chamber if you have already remembered. Would you humor an old friend and walk with me for a time? Perhaps I can help you to better understand these memories of the soul, in place of our departed friend.”

The offer seemed to surprise her, but she nodded up at the ancient shade with a smile of relief. “That...would please me greatly, Hythlodaeus.”

“Then let us walk. It would be wise to clear your head before we speak of memories in earnest.” With a wag of a finger, Hythlodaeus opened the great double doors, and the two walked side by side out toward the phantom streets of Amaurot.


	3. Fruitful Resonance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the guidance of Hythlodaeus, the Warrior of Light learns to control her delves into the memories of Azem.

Conversation between Hythlodaeus and the Warrior of Light carried the pair all through Emet-Selch’s facsimile of Amaurot, with the Chief Architect’s shade jovially answering any questions she posed about life in the lost city—and in particular, what he knew of _her_ life—and she recounting to him the details of her unprompted memory delves. They walked until her feet grew tired and eventually settled down on a stone bench beneath one of the recreation’s many trees for respite from their wanderings.

“I only have the memory of tired feet,” the towering shade confessed with a now familiar chuckle. “But we are here to speak of your memories, rather than mine, are we not?” Next to the ancient, the Warrior of Light seemed small and insignificant, but Hythlodaeus addressed her with the same care and respect he must have once given to her unsundered self.

“I suppose we are.” Taking a moment to stretch her limbs along the stone of the bench, she then produced the star of Azem from her jacket once more. “You think I might learn to probe the stone’s depths intentionally?”

His mouth curled into an encouraging smile. “Most certainly. Though your gift is not so great as belonged to those of us who came before, the stone’s purpose is singular and meant for your soul most of all. You need only establish the proper resonance.”

“Resonance?” For the Warrior of Light, the word conjured thoughts of the former crown prince of Garlemald, but something in the shade’s tone suggested another sense entirely. “You must mean what we call the Echo now...”

“The Echo...” The thought made the shade chuckle once more. “A fitting name indeed, most especially for the sharing of memories you have recently experienced. The stone that you carry is a repository of sorts for memories of the Fourteenth. Emet-Selch’s in particular, as you have no doubt surmised.”

Her gaze fell once more to the stone, its substance cold and quiet in her hand. “But how do I see them intentionally?”

Hythlodaeus mulled over the solution. “It may be helpful to think of your Echo as another of your senses, one that you can use to perceive the ways in which souls—and the star you hold in your hand—resonate with one another. You are most accustomed to using your other senses, but if you focus, I believe you might actively perceive the stone’s presence in this other way.”

The Warrior of Light nodded, her mind turning to soul crystals she relied on to supplement her prowess in battle—even the imperfect memories within them required dedication to unlock. “I think I understand.” Another memory, this one her own, came to mind, too: a simple command. _Hear. Feel. Think._

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes, turning her face away from the stone. While the shade of Hythlodaeus looked on, she coaxed herself into a state of meditation—using guidance from her many soul crystals. With time, her sense of the world around her began to fade into the background—even the weight of the stone in her hand seemed to wash away.

Then, she felt something new: not the weight or the shape of the stone against her palm, but its _presence_ , gently brushing up against the edge of her consciousness, the way the tide laps quietly against the sands of a beach. The Echo began to overtake her as before, but this time, it came without the sudden dizziness or the violent, splitting headache. With newfound serenity, the Warrior of Light gave herself willingly to the wave of memory.

**************

Emet-Selch had found refuge from the midday sun beneath the shade of a great tree in one of Amaurot’s numerous parks. He lay prone against the grass, his eyes tracing the ebb and flow of souls listing about to, from, and through the Underworld. Such moments of rest came rarely since his election to the Convocation of Fourteen, and he did what he could to make the most of them.

His moments of peace would be few on this day, however. He could hear soft, familiar footsteps behind him on the grass. Lighter than average for an Amaurotine, they fell in the careful, considered rhythm of someone well-accustomed to travel, and Emet-Selch suppressed a groan. _Where_ she _walks, trouble surely follows._ Stubbornly, he refused to acknowledge her approach, as if it might forestall the inevitable.

He had no such luck, of course. Her black-robed form fell over him, shielding the warmth of the sun with the familiar gleam of her soul, but it was a bunch of grapes that came to obscure his vision most fully.

“Go on, take one! I didn’t invoke the ire of the Convocation for nothing, I promise!” Below her black mask, Azem gave him her best, most vibrant smile of encouragement. When Emet-Selch refused to partake in her offering, she shook the bunch emphatically. “Hades...”

“Oh, very well,” he sighed, snatching a few pieces of the fruit, which he dropped carefully into his mouth. Chewing them would hide the slight smile threatening his face after the sound of his true name on her lips, in any case. _They were,_ he had to admit, _excellent specimens_.

Now satisfied, Azem took a more comfortable seat beside him. While she deposited a grape between her lips with one hand, her other snaked through the grass to find Emet-Selch’s, entwining her fingers between his from above while she fed. “I am pleased that you sided with Elidibus to prevent my censure.”

Though the day was warm, the gentle heat of her skin against his prompted an all but imperceptible shiver. Never one to give way to her wiles without resistance, however, Emet-Selch steeled himself—for the moment, at least. “You owe much to such an passionate ally, my dear, though your success doubtlessly aided in your cause, as well.”

“I owe just as much to you.” She squeezed his hand affectionately. “You know as well as I that you would struggle to give up our way of life—which is all that I wanted to preserve for them.”

“That is not—” With her free hand, Azem gently pushed another grape between his lips to prevent his protest.

“We should not deny the simple pleasure found in the fruits of their labor either, dearest Hades,” she countered with a smile, wiping away a wine-dark trickle from the corner of his mouth.

Before Hades could retort, their heads were both drawn to the sound of new footsteps on the grass. Ambling across the park came Hythlodaeus, an impish but all too familiar grin curling his features. “Esteemed Azem, you have returned! You must tell me all about the resulting conflict! Was Ifrita as magnificent as all of Lahabrea’s concepts?”

Azem rose to greet him first, all but leaping over the prone form of Emet-Selch, who groaned in protest beneath her. “She took my breath away! I owe you a great debt, my friend, as do the people whose lands I was able to save.” She jostled the bunch of grapes enticingly, offering those remaining to him.

While Emet-Selch lazily rose to a sitting position, Hythlodaeus accepted the gift of fruit and continued excitedly. “Wonderful! Will you be among us for long enough to share the tale of your encounter with the Speaker’s creation?”

“I believe so. I should take some time to confer with the Convocation regarding the events surrounding the volcano’s eruption—and to smooth over any remaining discontent,” she admitted, a subtly guilty smile forming on her lips.

Hythlodaeus seemed unconcerned at the possibility of strife among the Convocation, quickly steering the conversation toward his intent. “Then you will also be delighted to learn that I have secured seats for the three of us to attend a performance at the Amphitheatre in two days’ time. You can regale me with your exploits while we wait for the show!”

Beaming, Azem turned back to Emet-Selch, who had finally risen to his feet behind her. “Did you hear that? Oh, we’ll have to make arrangements!”

Emet-Selch was less enthused, his mouth curling into a dour shape. “We do not have the _time_ , my dear. You have much and more to attend to before duty whisks you beyond the horizon once again, do you not?”

“But...you love the theatre! How long has it been since we’ve gone together? Surely Capitol business can wait for a handful of hours.” Azem took hold of both his hands, her gaze one of gentle pleading. Behind her, Hythlodaeus lifted a hand to conceal the amused snicker on his lips.

He relented—as he always did when it came to her—with a weary sigh. “Fine. I trust you have selected an entertaining show for us, Hythlodaeus?”

“Have I ever disappointed you, my friend?” came the Chief Architect’s chittering retort.

Emet-Selch groaned, and Azem turned back to their oldest friend. “He means to share his gratitude, of course. We will see you there!”

Hythlodaeus gave the pair a knowing smile. “In two days then, my friends! I will leave you to your conversation.” Playful amusement crept into his voice with that final word, but before either Convocation member could respond, he gave them a wave of farewell and departed, dropping a grape into his mouth on the way.

Shrugging, Azem turned back to Hades, stretching up to leave the smallest of kisses on the side of his jaw. “You are right, though. If we are to visit the Amphitheatre, I should return to the Capitol building. You will accompany me, won’t you, dearest Hades?”

“Only if you promise to _work_ , Athena,” came the Angel of Truth’s weary reply, and scarcely before had had finished speaking, she began to shepherd him toward the towering Capitol building without another word.

**************

For the first time, the Warrior of Light escaped the long-familiar dizziness that normally accompanied the end of an Echo vision. The world of the present came slowly back into view, and Hythlodaeus was quick to query, “What did you see, my friend?”

She turned her gaze toward the gentle tower of a man, beholding him now with a newfound sense of familiarity. “I saw...Azem, and Hades, at a park, here in the Amaurot of the old world. And...you, as you were then. There were...grapes? They seemed like a very dear memory.”

Hythlodaeus listened to her brief account thoughtfully, then chuckled in remembrance. “Azem had ignored the wishes of the Convocation to prevent the eruption of a volcano, which would have brought ruin to the lives of many. It was the Convocation’s way to let things proceed according to the natural laws, but Azem disagreed with their decision—supposedly because of the quality of the grapes native to the island.”

“And for this she was...censured?” She frowns. “I feel like she must have done the right thing.”

A playful smile crept onto the shade’s lips. “You most certainly would, old friend. Such disagreements with the Convocation were not uncommon, due to the fierce gleam of her convictions, but Azem had her allies—chief among them Emet-Selch and the honored Emissary, Elidibus.”

And now, she had brought an end to each of those time lost allies—a thought she struggled to contend with in the moment. Seeking a reprieve from that line of inquiry, she quickly changed the subject. “In the memory, you mentioned a performance?”

“Oh, yes!” exclaimed the shade. “One of many, at Amaurot’s grand Amphitheatre. This one, I think, was a celebration of Azem’s many adventures, in fact. Her journeys often became the stuff of beloved stories, both within and beyond the city.”

The Warrior of Light could not help a slight smile—in her own time, the late emperor of Garlemald’s love of theater was well known. “Did the three of you often spend time that way?”

Hythlodaeus gave her a simple nod. “Whenever matters were quiet enough, yes. We each led busy lives of our own, especially once Azem and Emet-Selch were elected to the Convocation. I am sure that you will see many such days as you probe the memories held within Azem’s constellation.”

Her now confident gaze fell upon the stone once more. “Yes, I think I understand how to reach it, now. Thank you...old friend.” Those final words felt like a revelation in and of themselves, but when she turned her head back in his direction, the shade of Hythlodaeus had vanished, just as he had after bequeathing her the stone during their last meeting.


End file.
